


know you better than you fake it

by unearth



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 1990s, Billy Hargrove Lives, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage, Nightmares, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27126151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unearth/pseuds/unearth
Summary: It’s been a little over a decade, but Billy still has bad nights. Steve’s there, though. Always has been.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 16
Kudos: 100





	know you better than you fake it

**Author's Note:**

> two fics in a day??? am i ignoring classes?? absolutely  
> title from 1979 by the smashing pumpkins because that's what they're listening to in this <3

Steve wakes up to _panting_.

For a wild second, he thinks that maybe a stray dog had somehow found their way into the house. It wouldn’t be the first time. He _told_ Billy to stop feeding them so much.

Slowly, though, his senses come back, and with them, his heart sinks. Because Billy’s gasping for air, eyes a little too wide in the darkness of their bedroom, and it only takes a split second for Steve to throw the blankets off of his body so he can get closer to the edge that Billy has rolled towards. For him to gently put his hand on Billy’s forearm the way he knows he likes.

Something small. Something grounding.

“Baby,” Steve whispers. His heart is pounding in his chest, he can hear it in his ears. This hasn’t happened in a while. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re okay. Can you see me?”

“Yeah,” Billy chokes out. His voice is raw and thick, strained. Steve follows his eyes in the darkness, can see the way they cast downwards. “Tried not to wake you. Wasn’t so bad, this time.”

“ _Wasn’t so_ —” Steve repeats, a little hysterically, presses his fingers into Billy’s wrist to feel the quick beating of his heart. “You’re _shaking_ , honey. Sweating through the sheets. Wasn’t so bad, my ass.”

Billy laughs, something dry. Steve’s heart lurches. “You have work in a few hours. It’s nearly four.”

“ _Okay_? I don’t give a shit about that. Talk to me.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Billy all but whines. But something on Steve’s face must look dead fucking serious, because then he’s sitting up a little on his elbows and giving him those sad eyes. “Same thing. Starcourt. Felt _real_. Look, I _know_ that batty old therapist said talking about it takes away its power, but I really _don’t_ want to, not when I always see _you_ , up on the second floor, and it’s telling me it’s out to get _you too_ —”

Steve hushes him. Lets Billy’s head fall on his chest. Runs his fingers through his tangled hair and kisses that spot near his ear. “It didn’t get me, baby. I’m right here.”

“I know you are,” Billy whispers. Squeezes Steve’s hand. “Can we—?”

Steve nods, knows exactly what Billy’s asking for. “Of course. _Of course_. Can you stand?”

Billy scoffs a little, playful. “Have legs, don’t I?”

Steve just smiles. Doesn’t reply, because he knows how embarrassed he gets after this happens, how much he wants to take control of the situation. He just smiles and lets Billy tumble off the bed in a pile of blankets, follows him into the barely-lit kitchen.

“Any special requests?” Steve asks. He fiddles with the radio, cringes at how loud the static is in the quiet of the night. “Before I put it on Top 40’s and you murder me in cold blood?”

Billy breathes out a laugh from behind him. “You can pick. Just want to be with you.”

And— _god_ , that’s how Steve knows the nightmare must have been _bad_. Billy’s almost always whining about the radio station, wants it to be on rock or metal even though they can’t really _dance_ to that. But they do. Make it work. Because that’s just what they do, after all. After everything.

So Steve twists the knob until the clear voice of Billy Corgan comes through on the crackling speakers, crooning, _June bug skipping like a stone_.

And Steve’s barely turned around when Billy’s suddenly in his arms. Steve sighs, smooths down the tension on Billy’s left shoulder with his right hand as he trails down, down, down to rest on his waist.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

Steve presses a kiss to Billy’s cheek. Smiles when Billy interlocks their free hands together. “I’m not sorry. I get to dance with you before going to work. That’s pretty special, huh?”

Billy hides his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. Blows out a shaky breath. It _tickles_. “Haven’t had one that bad in a long time. Felt like—like—”

“Baby,” Steve says. Effectively quiets him down. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it. Let’s just be here, okay? Right here. In the kitchen.”

And so they sway. Take little half-steps to the right and left, not really dancing as much as moving together in sync. Because Billy’s happiest memory is the time they slow danced after exchanging rings. Their own little version of a wedding. Nothing _real_ , but real enough. Real to them. And it helps, when his dreams turn against him. 

“This song’s fucking _good_ ,” Billy says after a while, voice lighter. “ _Re-ee-st to dust_. _I guess_.”

Steve snorts. “ _Forgotten and absorbed… into the Earth below._ ”

Billy presses a kiss to Steve’s neck. “You should really be a singer. Quit that desk job of yours. They don’t deserve you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“ _You should_. Voice of an angel. Not just sayin’ that because you’re my person.”

 _My person_. It makes Steve’s heart grow every time he says it. He presses his fingers into Billy’s skin, makes sure his heart is slowing down. “Me and Robin forming a gay little duo band. You’d be our only fan.”

Billy hums. Presses another kiss to his neck. “Heather, too. _Two_ whole fans.”

There are dogs barking outside. A siren a little ways away. Honking. The sound of _The Smashing Pumpkins_ on their beat-up little radio.

Steve moves closer, presses his whole front to Billy’s. Just wants to fucking melt into him, be as close as a person can possibly be. Take away all of his fears, all of his trauma. Every bad thing he’s ever had to endure. “Better?”

“Better,” Billy agrees. He lifts his head up. “Can’t believe you’re dancing with me when I smell like _sweat_.”

“I _married_ you. Said through thick and thin, sickness and health, all that stuff. Pretty sure that means dancing with you even when you’re sweating like a dog.”

Billy snorts, tilts his head down like he does when he’s embarrassed. “You’re supposed to say, _oh, no, Billy, you’re not sweating that much. You’re fine._ ”

“Aren’t marriages supposed to be honest?”

“ _Fucker_ ,” he says. But he’s smiling so much that he has to tuck his head into the crook of Steve’s neck again, to hide it. “I love you so much it’s stupid.”

“How stupid?”

“Fuckin’ _stupid_ ,” Billy answers. He hums to the song for a little bit, swaying into Steve. Then, “You think we’ll ever get to do it someday? Like… for real?”

Steve moves his hand from Billy’s waist to his hair. Massages his scalp. “I know we will. And we’ll do it by ourselves, at first. Just a little piece of paper from city hall. Go on a trip somewhere nice. And then we’ll have a big ass party, invite everyone we know.”

Billy moves to face him again, Steve’s hand dropping from the back of his head. His blue eyes are shining in the dark, lit up by the moonlight coming in through the window. “I can’t wait.”

Steve smiles. Brings up their joined hands and kisses the cool metal band on Billy’s finger. “Me either.”

The radio moves on to the next song. And they keep swaying.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markofalover)   
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End file.
